The Long Black Dress
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: After a ten year absence, Emma returns to her childhood love: Antonio. Lovino really does not like that and debates his next course of action, even if it may involve bloodshed. SpainxBelgium


He could hear the giggling. Lovino rolled over on his bed, pulling a pillow over his head. It was late evening. Dinner still lingered in his mouth. He wanted to spit it out because it was her cooking. She, sitting up in the room just next to Lovino's, telling jokes, tickling Antonio, laughing so that her blond curls danced. She brought her manicured nails to her lips and pretended to be demurred. Lovino could picture her lighting Antonio's cigarette. He never smoked unless she wanted him to. He could picture him fumble with her dress, with her hair, with her earrings.  
In the room Emma, a Belgian woman visiting Barcelona and her dearest long-lost lover, as she put it, wore a long black dress with a drooping v-neck, exposing an abundance of cleavage. Her eyes never lingered longer than they had to on Lovino, but they devoured Antonio. Now they did the same. Her bright eyes ate up Antonio's dark flesh, his chocolaty eyes, and especially his tan lips that kissed her pale cheeks and neck. She giggled again, gripping his shoulders and feeling her flesh burn.

Lovino heard the bed rustle and felt his cheeks crimson. Sure, he was a young man, not even eighteen, but he knew passion. He wished Antonio, despite being a good deal older, would turn away from the beautiful woman (Lovino had to admit she was wonderfully sculpted) and gaze at him. Lovino must have something worthwhile. He tried to smile but even his smile was jaded. He was Sicilian. He was despised. He was bulky, long, stretched, and what's more he lacked all the boyish charm that turned his brother Feliciano's same build into something empyrean.  
It wouldn't be such a damn big problem if Antonio hadn't obsessed over him. But once his childhood sweetheart sent word she was coming, he forgot about Lovino. Lovino rose from the bed, flustered, jealous, and his heart beat with such a pain he worried he may fall dead from a heart attack at any moment. He padded into the hallway, hearing Emma groan and moan. A slit in the doorway provided full view of Emma's bare leg, stretched out and intertwined with Antonio's. Lovino rushed into the bathroom and threw water against his face, scrubbing away in vain.

Emma was not a bad person. She was sweet, well-tempered, feisty, and an excellent friend. Yet Lovino despised her for one fact: she loved Antonio, and, Antonio loved her back. Lovino raised his face to the looking-glass and gazed at his features. Water trickled down his nose and lips, matting his hair to his cheekbones, and his eyelashes were clumped together. He rubbed his eyes and, like poison slipping into a pond vile green, an idea emerged.  
He could destroy them. If Emma was gone then Antonio would have no choice but to finally confront his feelings about Lovino. In his despair he would turn to the Italian male and plead for comfort. Lovino would give it up reluctantly, although his heart would leap for joy. How would he do it?

"Oh, Antonio…" Emma whispered in the room. The lights were turned off. He could imagine Antonio's farmer's arms wrapped around Emma's milky torso, touching her soft breast and cupping them with his fingers. He could imagine Emma's hair a mess, strands of it hiding Antonio's face. They would be quivering with euphoria and still starved of touch that had endured a ten-year absence. In that absence Antonio had taken seven-year-old Lovino and raised him because no one else could or would. Grandfather Roma had taken Feliciano under his care, him being the favorite, and other issues Lovino was too mad to think about. All that time Antonio had dreamed and longed for her. Lovino had heard Antonio place an engagement ring in his drawers.  
Lovino could kill her. He could make it look like an accident. He could betray them both and have them leave on their "own" terms. A thousand ideas blurred in his mind. If only his heart was not so weak. He knew he could never harm Emma nor could he ever harm Antonio.

But he had to. He could not live with such pain dwelling in his heart like a caged lion. He couldn't bear one more second without Antonio's arms caressing _him_, his lips kissing _his_, and not _hers_. Yes… If he couldn't have Antonio then no one could. In a mad fury, a white wall shot from the earth and blinded his senses. His adolescence attacked him with a snarl and claws. Lovino would rid of them both. That or he would run away, or maybe get rid of Lovino, too. He grabbed the scissors from the drawer. A quick stab in her throat, in his, and his own would cease all sound in the house. They would gurgle, but not if he hit the brain stem first.

"Emma?" Antonio whispered. Lovino leaned soundlessly against the wall, listening to each word and each breath.

"Yes?"

"Do you love me?"

"No." Lovino began to grin. The scissors may not even need to be used. Maybe she had just used his body. Maybe—"the word 'love' be it 'amo' or 'amour' or even 'liebe' means nothing to me. What I feel for you is infinitely stronger. I want to wake with your face next to mine. I want to touch you each day. I want to see you smile, see you grin, see you laugh." Emma finished with a weak chuckle. He could hear them exchange a noisy kiss. He gripped the scissors harder. His heart thundered in his throat. Like a rat in a cup he searched a way out of this pain, even if it meant biting through glass or biting through the tender stomach below. It was pure instinct. The future meant nothing to a kid like him."Emma, I love you. To me the word means enough. And…" Antonio laughed. The strong sound belted through the walls. Lovino remembered hearing that same sound when he had insulted Antonio. It made him madder at the time. Why would Antonio never cry? Why would he never even give a damned hint that he was upset? What, did he think he was too godly? "You're always so happy." Emma said. The sheets rustled. She gasped and playfully pushed him away, judging by the firmer, quicker rustle. Antonio laughed again and turned. Lovino peered through the crack. The sheets covered their bodies up to their torsos. Antonio had his arms behind his head, a chain dangled at his neck, the cross at the end resting on his chest. Lovino diverted his eyes from Emma's breasts and focused on her loathsome face which in the moonlight only looked more beautiful. Lovino sunk soundlessly to the ground, confused. He thought he loved Antonio. Did he love both of them?

"No, I'm not."

"Oh?"

"No."

"Why are you always smiling, always so positive? I love that about you, too, but it's dangerous."

"How is making sure everyone around me isn't hurt dangerous? I'm not that important."

"For one, when you really are hurt no one will notice or give a damn. Then you'll mope and people will take it for granted how amazing you are."

Antonio paused. He drew Emma closer to him. She placed her head on his shoulder, sneaking a quick kiss to his jaw-line.

"Remember when we visited that park all those years ago?"

"The one where you lost your doll?"

"Yeah, that one. Remember when some older kids started to tease me? You fought them off. I was so scared and yet so happy to see you I didn't notice that your nose was bleeding. It was right there! Blood was falling to the ground and your shirt and yet I didn't see a thing. I was a stupid kid."

"I was happy to help you."

"What a gentleman," Emma teased, but she could see Antonio was serious. He meant every action, every word, and every promise. The problem was he believed everyone did too. "Let's not talk about this. I'm getting some water."

Lovino shot up and went to his bedroom. He stood in the doorway, as though just having woken up. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. Emma exited the room, a bathrobe around her body, and presumably nothing else. She stretched and peered at Lovino. She smiled.

"Do you need something, Lovi?" She asked sweetly, her pink lips yellow from the streetlamps outside.

"No, I needed to use the toilet." He said shortly.

"All right," she went down the hall of their apartment and to the kitchen. He could hear her running a cup under the tap and then drinking from it. He should have gone into the bathroom or back to his room. When Emma returned she gave him a curious look, her eyes flicking downwards. She must have thought he had wet himself. It wouldn't be a first. To have Antonio see it, a man who had the same issue as a child, was one thing, but for a grown woman… Lovino looked down as well. The scissors were still clutched in his fist.

Lovino stared at her and bit his lip. "I forgot to put these away. There was a string on my mattress and it was driving me fucking insane."

"I can take that back for you." She suggested, holding her hand out. Lovino was tempted to stab straight through her palm. He imagined her falling in pain, screaming for Antonio. Antonio would run out and then he would really hate Lovino. He wouldn't laugh. Antonio had his limits too. _I wish I got your brother instead of this whiny, loud, selfish brat_ he would say, or most likely just think quietly to himself. He thought it before, Lovino knew. Emma's hand moved forwards, lounging for the scissors, but instead her thumb met Lovino's cheeks. She wiped away the tears he didn't know he had shed.

"What's wrong?" Emma asked.

"Nothing." He tore away from her. He could feel the ghost of her touch lingering on his cheek. He dragged the tears away with his wrist.

"You're in love." She said.

"What—no—!"

"Yes. I don't know nor do I care whether it's with me or Antonio. Don't do anything rash." Emma said, flustered. Lovino dropped the scissors and balled his fingers into fists. His arms trembled.

"Everything was FINE until you had to come and show up! You ruined everything!" Lovino cried out. Emma didn't move. Her expression remained calm. Antonio pushed open the door and entered the conversation, his expression with an uncanny likeness to a wounded puppy. He had pulled on briefs. Lovino felt out of place being the only one fully clothed. He shouldn't have cared. He stepped back, on to the scissors, and cursed. Drops of blood leaked from the cut along his ankle. He reached down and rubbed them away. Antonio stared, unable to comprehend the situation, as usual.

Emma held her hands out, as though to help him, but her eyes blazed with fury. Behind her a long painting hung, of a pale-faced woman with straight black hair. Her chin was jutted forwards and her cheeks were stained with gray marks. A man next to her, faceless, seemed to call out to her. Lovino didn't remember who painted the picture, but faintly recalled a merchant crying from glee that someone had bought his abstract, pasty art. Antonio always did that. He always kept spare change in his pockets for the poor. He always wanted art, no matter how bad. Lovino turned from the painting to look at Antonio. He was saying something Lovino could quite felt the scissors in his hands, wet along the tips from his ankle. Antonio again was speaking, so was Emma. When he looked at Emma he noticed he ashen cheeks.


End file.
